


Friday Night Fun

by mariana_oconnor



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Anal Sex, And neither's Gwaine, Arthur is a Prat, Bisexual Gwaine (Merlin), Blow Jobs, Brief Gwaine/Vivian (Merlin), Gwaine drinks too much, Gwaine is also a bit of a prat, M/M, Multi, Pining Gwaine (Merlin), Polyamory, Threesome - M/M/M, although there aren't really negotiations, because Merlin and Arthur aren't very good at this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23433853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariana_oconnor/pseuds/mariana_oconnor
Summary: Every Friday night Gwaine's flatmates and best friends go out on a date. This is great. Gwaine's happy for them. He definitely isn't secretly in love with them at all.
Relationships: Gwaine & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwaine & Merlin (Merlin), Gwaine/Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 246





	Friday Night Fun

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this about 8 years ago, finished it, had it betaed and then... did nothing with it. I was going through my WIP folder of Merlin fics in a fit of nostalgia and found it. Did a bit more polishing, cut down on the terrifying amount of italics that were in it, and thought I might as well post it.
> 
> Thank you to inspired_being for the beta, although it was a long time ago and I don't even know if you're still in fandom at all, let alone the Merlin fandom. 
> 
> There is very little plot, and far more porn than I would usually include these days. It was also the first threesome fic I ever wrote, so that's fair warning for you.

Friday night is date night.

This would be great if Gwaine were the one going on the date.

But he’s not.

And this would also be great if Gwaine had someone to share his dateless Friday nights with. Like a flatmate, for instance.

But Gwaine just happens to share a flat with Arthur and Merlin, who just happen to be out on a date. Together.

Which will, if past experience is anything to go by, end with them shagging loudly up against the front door, on the sofa and on the kitchen table. Honestly it’s like they want him to walk in on them. Not that he’s complaining, because neither of them is exactly hard to look at, and Gwaine’s been given more than enough fuel from ill-timed room entrances to provide fantasies for several lifetimes. If he’s being wholly honest with himself - which there’s no point not being, really - some of those times weren't exactly by accident.

So Gwaine is probably going to feel like a third wheel before long and be relegated by the bounds of decency (damn the laws of decency) to his own room, to listen to his housemates shagging like gay rabbits.

But there’s beer in the fridge and crap on TV so Gwaine’s not feeling terribly bad about his lot, all in all.

Next week, he decides, Friday night will be ‘go out and pull someone’ night and it will be his turn to have loud, enthusiastic and unhygienic sex in as many communal areas of the flat as possible.

This seems like an excellent idea, so he raises his beer bottle to the Simon Cowell wannabe on TV and drinks to his own health.

The beer disappears rather more quickly than anticipated and he wakes up in bed the next morning with very little idea of how he got there and Merlin grinning inanely at him from the door. Merlin’s grin is one of Gwaine’s favourite things about him. It’s as irreverent as it is huge and there is always a feeling that Merlin’s face isn’t actually big enough to contain a smile which would suitably demonstrate his amusement, so he has to hold some of it in. There is also the vague promise of mischief to it, which is just hot. And sure, Merlin is spoken for, but that doesn’t mean Gwaine can’t look. Arthur hasn’t minded so far.

This early in the morning, Gwaine isn’t sure which is more attractive: Merlin or the steaming coffee he’s holding in his hands.

“You threw up on Arthur,” Merlin says gleefully and grins even wider. Gwaine has to resign himself to the fact Merlin might be slightly more attractive, though the coffee comes in a close second.

He laughs delightedly, ignoring the fuzziness in his mouth, which tastes vaguely of mint, and the ache in his head.

Merlin must notice him tracing his tongue over his teeth with puzzlement because he takes a moment to explain.

“I tried brushing your teeth. You couldn’t do it yourself; you kept brushing your eyebrows instead… and giggling.”

“Is the drunken idiot awake, then?” Arthur’s voice, as loud and unsuitable for hangovers as ever, calls from the kitchen. It makes Gwaine wince. Arthur’s always like this in the mornings, loud and brash and taking everything out on the world. Gwaine has a theory that Arthur isn’t really a morning person at all, despite the fact he always gets up at the arse crack of dawn, he’s just trained himself to be one and he takes out his hatred on other people. “Tell him he owes me a suit and a new pair of shoes.”

Merlin hands over the coffee instead, sharing an amused look with Gwaine, because they both know Arthur is going to give Gwaine pointed looks for a week or so, but he’ll eventually buy his own suit and his own shoes because he knows full well Gwaine doesn’t have the cash to spare. He’ll make him pay in dishes and vacuuming instead.

Arthur’s the richest of the three of them; an entitled prat was how Merlin had introduced him to Gwaine all those years ago. It comes in useful from time to time, particularly when Gwaine has earned more than his life is worth in debts. Not that Arthur would ever admit that he pays them off. It’s all endearingly cloak and dagger – like Arthur thinks he can ever be subtle.

“Sorry if I ruined your night,” Gwaine apologises. He is utterly sincere but Merlin looks puzzled; as though he is wondering how Gwaine throwing up and needing to have his teeth brushed could ever not be a perfect end to a date. Merlin is like that, though: strangely happy to be of help when he likes you.

“So you should be,” Arthur tells him. He breaks the calm, gentle moment by poking his head around the doorframe, sneaking up like an obnoxious blond ninja. But his presence isn’t entirely unwelcome. “Now get washed and dressed, we’re meeting Lance and Leon down at the sports centre in half an hour and I’m going with you or without you.”

Gwaine and Merlin glance at each other again and this time they share a look that contains years of experience. Arthur is an arse, it says. But at least he’s our arse.

Gwaine amends that “our” a second later to Merlin’s.

Arthur doesn’t go without him. Though he’s already in the car by the time Gwaine jogs to the passenger side door.

“If we’re late again…” Arthur starts, but it’s an empty threat and they both know it. Gwaine just shoots him a broad devil-may-care grin, which gets bigger every time Arthur scowls at him.

Baiting Arthur is practically a sport by now. It’s been a favourite pastime for so long. Ever since they were Arthur, Merlin and Gwaine; rather than Arthur&Merlin - and Gwaine.

*

Gwaine had seen Merlin first. Heard him open that huge mouth of his and make an inadvisable comment about heterosexual men who were insecure in their sexuality to a man about three times his size and covered in tattoos that screamed ‘I do crime. Ask me how!’ Gwaine had heard him, then seen him: the scrawny dark haired boy with the innocent expression squaring off against the thug, and had thought ‘I need to know that man.’

At the time Gwaine hadn’t really done “friends” or “stability”, but he’d punched a man in the face for Merlin and offered him a hand in greeting. He’d never regretted it either.

The two of them had been ducking a punch from another drunk (and possibly closeted) Goliath when a voice had announced that it couldn’t leave Merlin anywhere and a hand had fallen on Goliath’s shoulder.

Two bruised ribs, a concussion and a black eye later, Gwaine had been introduced properly to Arthur Pendragon as they were thrown, literally, out of the club. His first impression had been ‘what an arse’ and that opinion hadn’t changed much.

Life would be easier if Arthur really were an arse. Mainly because Gwaine’s first impression of Merlin had been something akin to ‘perfect’ and that one hadn’t changed at all either.

If Arthur were an arse, Gwaine would be duty bound to rescue Merlin from him and if they happened to fall into bed together as they rode off into the sunset then that would be just fine, too (or more than fine, or perfect, or whatever).

But Arthur is not an arse, not really. He talks like an arse and he acts like an arse, but when it comes down to it, and if you find your way past the arse-ish-ness, he’s sort of annoyingly wonderful. It would be more annoying if he were as smug about that as everything else. But when it comes down to his actual good qualities, Arthur seems as confused and surprised by them as everyone else. He once got drunk and told Gwaine that it was all Merlin’s fault. Gwaine has never doubted it for a moment.

And, even more importantly than Arthur being strangely lovely, there is the fact that he and Merlin are sort of perfect for each other.

So Gwaine’s happy for them and he is happy Arthur is not an arse because when Merlin is with Arthur he’s even more Merlin and Arthur is even more Arthur, which makes them both spectacular. The rather extensive number of glimpses (and longer glimpses, which might be called stares) Gwaine has had of them shagging each other’s brains out have only gone to prove that they’re sort of perfect together like that too, which would fill Gwaine with irritation and jealousy if it wasn’t so hot.

So, in general, Gwaine’s happy for his flatmates and he has been ever since they got together two years ago. If he sometimes fantasises about one or the other of them then it’s all great, really, because it’s not like he’s in love with them or anything.

He doesn’t do love.

Except for the part where he really, really does.

But it’s not like he’s going to run around being emo about it all and angsting in a corner while writing bad poetry. He lives with two blokes who are mostly awesome, very attractive and don’t seem to mind putting on a live porn show every now and then. It’s an almost perfect living arrangement.

Emphasis on the almost.

*

The next week passes by fairly normally. He and Merlin play video games and throw balls of newspaper at each other across the dinner table, until Arthur realises that it’s his newspaper they’re throwing and has a hissy fit.

The three of them sprawl across the sofas to watch bad action films. Although Arthur pretends he’s too high brow, he’s tired from work (God knows he hates that office) and it doesn’t take a lot of convincing from Merlin and Gwaine before he’s being pushed back onto the sofa with a laugh and Merlin is sitting in his lap to pin him down so he’ll watch the damn films. That is going to be on replay in Gwaine’s mind tonight (with a slightly different ending).

Merlin falls asleep before the end, like he always does, so Arthur and Gwaine talk about nothing and everything as the credits roll, whispering over Merlin’s head pillowed in Arthur’s lap.

“He’s got no stamina,” Arthur says, tugging his fingers through Merlin’s hair. It’s a surprisingly sweet movement for Arthur, who doesn’t usually let people see him like that.

“Not the impression I get from your late night sessions,” Gwaine comments. Arthur winces slightly before chuckling.

“Maybe I just wore him out,” he suggests. Gwaine chuckles dutifully.

“You should take him to bed,” he says as Arthur yawns.

“Are you sure?” Arthur asks, looking at him. “You don’t look tired.”

“Contrary to your opinion, I can handle being alone for a few hours. Take your better half to bed already.”

“If you’re okay to be…” Arthur says, but he’s already standing up half carrying Merlin, who wakes up enough to stand.

“I’m not a child,” Gwaine insists.

“Could have fooled me,” Arthur mutters and Gwaine doesn’t even bother to pretend to be offended as the two of them shuffle off, Merlin raising a slow hand to wave goodbye to him.

*

Friday comes around far too fast again and Gwaine didn’t get quite drunk enough last week to forget his decision. He is dressed before Merlin and Arthur have even got their act together, in leather jacket and jeans. He checks his hair in the hall mirror as Merlin walks through the hall looking for his watch.

“Going out?” Merlin asks, taking in his appearance with a swift up and down glance.

“Well, I can’t let you two have all the fun,” Gwaine says with a quick grin at him in the mirror. Merlin doesn’t look entirely convinced. “Look at it this way,” he says, “if you’re lucky, I’ll get lucky tonight and go home with someone else so you and Arthur can have this place to yourselves.” Merlin frowns.

“You don’t have to go out,” Merlin says. “We don’t want to force you out.”

“You’re not,” Gwaine says, because the whole ‘third wheel’ thing has been sort of dangerous territory since Arthur and Merlin finally got over themselves and stumbled drunkenly into bed with each other. It’s important to handle it all as lightly as he does everything else, so he keeps his tone jovial as he continues. “I just haven’t been out in a while. Decided I might as well do it while you two were out as well.” Gwaine is the King of Casual or he would be if casual had things like kings, which it doesn’t because it’s too laid back for a monarchy.

“We never mean for you to feel as though…” Merlin says slowly. He doesn’t seem to be able to finish the sentence.

“I don’t,” Gwaine assures him. “I just feel like going out.” He looks Merlin in the eye until he receives a hesitant nod.

Arthur wanders in and taking in Gwaine’s clothes with a flick of his eyebrow.

“Big plans?”

“Alcohol, music, women,” Gwaine says with a laugh. “The usual.”

“Hmm…” Arthur turns away dismissively, his expression cold. “Have you found your watch yet?” Merlin starts, jumping at Arthur’s tone.

“What? Uh no. I was just-” Arthur cuts him off.

“Well get on with it. We’ve got reservations for seven, remember.” His tone is harsher than usual and both Merlin and Gwaine flinch. But Arthur’s already breezing past them both and into the living room to search for Merlin’s watch himself.

Gwaine heads out the door and receives a distracted “bye” from Merlin and nothing at all from Arthur. It leaves him a little off balance, but when he arrives at the first bar of the night, he orders himself a drink and the alcohol brings him back to his usual equilibrium.

*

The alcohol is plentiful and Gwaine has been able to drink like a fish since he was far too young to buy the stuff legally. He ends up dancing with a petite brunette for a while, then dodging her boyfriend’s glares the rest of the evening, charming a red head onto the dance floor and buying another girl a drink. About three hours later he ends up staggering back into his flat, back first, fingers fiddling with keys, with one of the girls attached to his mouth and giggling around kisses that taste like vodka and cranberry. He’s never been sure if he likes cranberries.

She wraps her legs around him as he pulls her closer and they tumble down to the ground like one person. Her hands are efficient at undoing buttons and zips and slipping down into his trousers and underwear to trace teasing patterns along his cock that make him moan rather obscene things into her ear, making her giggle more. She has a pretty face, slightly pointy, he thinks, but in a good way. Elfin might be the word.

She’s straddling him with a wicked grin on her face that he knows is reflected in his own, and that is when the light is switched on and they both look up – her hand still down his trousers – to see Merlin standing in the living room doorway.

“Oh,” he says, blushing furiously, like Gwaine hasn’t walked in on him and Arthur in similar positions a million times before. “Sorry… uhm.” He hovers for a moment, clearly trying to decide whether to go backwards, or whether he should continue where he was intending to go before he saw them. Gwaine can see the decision passing through his head in the curious forwards and backwards sway he does.

Gwaine absently notices that he somehow went home with a blonde, though he doesn’t remember meeting a single blonde that night.

“Merlin,” he says, not in the least embarrassed, “meet Vivian,” her name comes to him in a flash of memory. “Vivian, this is Merlin, he’s one of my flatmates.” Honestly, this isn’t even the worst thing Merlin has seen Gwaine doing. Considering that time they both ended up in the cells overnight and the thing in Las Vegas, Gwaine is a little surprised that Merlin isn’t just laughing his head off. Instead he looks sort of embarrassed.

“Pleasure,” she says. But she doesn’t hold out her hand, instead she’s still doing rather extraordinary things with it, which make Gwaine’s head fall back involuntarily. The moan he manages to produce ripples with laughter, because even if Merlin can’t, Gwaine can see the humour in the situation.

“I’ll just be going then,” Merlin stammers. “Perhaps you could...”

“Why don’t we take this to the bedroom?” Gwaine suggests to Vivian, who smirks at him before standing up with far more grace than someone with hands like that should be able to manage.

Merlin watches them disappear into Gwaine’s room with a strange expression on his face that Gwaine can’t quite place.

*

The next morning it turns out that Vivian’s mostly terrible. She demands breakfast, sneers at Merlin as he struggles to make his early morning coffee and demands that Arthur relinquish his seat for her.

Gwaine’s nothing if not good at awkward morning afters, though. He has perfected a way of escorting women to the door without seeming to and he ushers Vivian and her strident tones of disapproval out, calmly cutting down any of her requests for his number or another date. He ignores the way she shrieks from the doorstep, about setting her Daddy on him.

He really hopes she doesn’t. Gwaine’s never been good with fathers.

When he walks back into the kitchen, Arthur and Merlin are staring at him with that expression on their faces: the expression only people in happy relationships can ever give. He shoots two fingers up at both of them and steals Arthur’s bacon.

“She was...”

“Horrible,” Gwaine supplies as Merlin trails off. “The word you’re looking for is horrible. Not really her personality I was thinking about, though.”

“Right,” Arthur says, turning to his newspaper, which is startlingly and worryingly complete. That one word sounds like both dismissal and disapproval in one. Gwaine has the unsettling feeling he has disappointed Arthur somehow (and the even more unsettling feeling that he cares about that). He turns to Merlin, looking for some sort of support from his corner, but Merlin’s avoiding his eyes.

“Okay then,” he says, grabbing Arthur’s toast as well – and the man doesn’t even comment. There’s something odd about this morning. He stares at Arthur for a long moment, waiting for the comment about theft or Gwaine’s inability to keep his hands to himself. It doesn’t come and when he looks back at Merlin, Merlin’s staring at Arthur as well, looking like something tremendously important has just happened.

“I give up,” Gwaine tells the room at large and rises from his seat. “I’m going for a walk. Try not to fall apart while I’m not here.”

“I’m sure we’ll cope,” Arthur says, still in the strange, almost emotionless voice Gwaine doesn’t recognise at all. Since the moment they met – and Arthur had told Gwaine he could have handled the six foot three man who had been kicking him in the ribs without help – Arthur’s always had some sort of emotion when they’ve spoken, even if it was mostly irritation and anger.

Gwaine doesn’t know what happened between the pair of them last night, but he’s not about to get involved. So he walks out and leaves them to it.

*

Gwaine misses the weekly gym session with Leon and Lance, but Arthur doesn’t call him on it. Saturday passes instead in almost silence for Gwaine, though he can hear whispered arguments between Merlin and Arthur whenever he’s in the flat. They always stop when he enters a room, though. He tests it a few times, because he’s always been the sort of person to poke bruises just to see how much they hurt.

They ignore him and leave him to watch the national lottery quiz in peace, which isn’t as satisfying as he would have thought. It turns out it’s not as fun without Arthur giving the wrong answers and Merlin insulting the contestants. It’s just sort of flat. Everything is. He cracks open a beer, runs a hand through his hair and sighs. In the background there’s still the thrum of Merlin and Arthur’s bizarre whispered war.

Sunday almost passes the same way, until, at about two in the afternoon, Merlin and Arthur’s voices rise and something seems to break through, like a storm after heavy humid days.

“Take away?” Arthur asks strolling into Gwaine’s room like he hasn’t been ignoring him for the past thirty hours or so. Gwaine looks up from his computer.

“Sounds good,” he says. “You two over your spat, then?” Arthur blinks at him, confused before smiling rather smugly. It’s almost a relief to see that thrice-damned smirk even if it is probably a bad sign for Gwaine’s mental health.

“We’ve come to an understanding,” Arthur tells him.

“Good. I’d hate to have to kill you for breaking Merlin’s heart,” Gwaine says. Arthur chuckles at that. “What were you thinking?” Arthur stares for a moment, his eyes looking at Gwaine in confusion. “For food? Indian? Chinese? Pizza?”

“Not pizza!” Merlin calls from the other room and is suddenly in the doorway, walking up behind Arthur, arms wrapping around him and grinning evilly over his shoulder. “You always order the meat feast.”

“Because it’s the only pizza worth having,” Arthur points out.

Gwaine feels a little unnerved, because suddenly both of his flatmates are staring at him, wearing matching evil grins. It reminds him of their early years living together when pranks had escalated from minor skirmishes to full-on war.

“That’s not meat,” Merlin argues, “it is parts of animals that even the animals don’t talk about.”

“Animals don’t talk, idiot,” Arthur says. It’s almost their usual banter, but there’s still something hanging in the air. Gwaine knows when to duck – it’s like a prickle on the back of his neck and a pressure in the air – and he feels like he should be doing it right now. He wants to duck and cover, but there’s no danger in sight.

They finally settle on Chinese, which will require chopsticks, which Arthur has never managed to figure out and will leave the other two more options to mock him. Gwaine hides the forks carefully before it arrives because some things are just worth the effort.

Then the pair of them practically drag Gwaine out of his room and insist he watch Indiana Jones, which is on some channel for the fiftieth time this week, just so they can quote along.

Somehow, when the food comes, their positions on the sofa are switched so Gwaine is sandwiched between the couple with Merlin leaning carelessly along one side of him and Arthur wedged in on the other side. They pass the prawn crackers and spring rolls over him, leaning right in. Usually he ends up on the floor, with Arthur sprawling over the entire sofa and pulling Merlin half on top of him, claiming possession of his kingdom. Not tonight, however. Gwaine wonders if they aren’t worrying about the third wheel thing again. But they don’t seem worried. They don’t even seem to notice this is completely unusual, even when Arthur reaches round Gwaine’s back to shove at Merlin’s head and his arm sort of catches there. This is disturbing in and of itself, because Arthur Pendragon kind of has his arm round Gwaine’s shoulders, and there is no level on which that is right. Not a single one.

It’s not even attractive, despite the heat Arthur is radiating; it is mostly awkward and uncomfortable.

Luckily, after a few minutes, Merlin shoves it back.

“I should get an Indiana Jones hat,” Merlin says after a while. The arm incident is ignored.

“You’d look even more like an idiot,” Arthur says.

“I’d look awesome,” Merlin corrects. “Indiana Emrys and the Curse of the Crystal Chalice or something. It’d be brilliant.”

“Oh, come on,” Gwaine says with a smile. “We all know I’m the only one who could pull off the Indiana Jones look.” The others look him up and down with more interest than they’ve ever really given him before. If he wasn’t absolutely sure they were desperately and perfectly in love with each other, he’d almost think they were checking him out.

“You would look hot in that,” Merlin agrees. Gwaine grunts agreement around his mouthful of kung-po chicken and doesn’t realise for another three minutes or so that Arthur’s hum wasn’t disgruntled, but agreeing.

But then there are Nazis on the screen, so that all goes out of the window.

*

Merlin falls asleep on Gwaine’s shoulder, his body slumping round so he’s draped down Gwaine’s side. It’s not an uncomfortable feeling, but he’s also aware of Arthur on his other side, watching. Arthur’s always been a little possessive. Not jealous, exactly, he just likes to know where everything stands and he likes to know that everyone else does too.

“We should get him to bed,” he says, lips curving into a smile. Gwaine waits for him to get up and drag Merlin with him before the pronoun catches in his mind.

We.

Right. Gwaine nudges Merlin awake with his arm and Merlin snuggles in a little, just for a second, before blinking his eyes open to look at Gwaine and Arthur staring at him.

He yawns.

“Sorry,” he says to Gwaine. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

“It’s fine,” Gwaine tells him. And it is. Merlin has fallen asleep on him before. It’s inevitable given his inability to see the end of a film. It’s fine because it’s Merlin and because Arthur and Gwaine always chuckle as Arthur picks him up and drags him to his room.

This time he helps Arthur pull Merlin up and is going to leave them to it when Merlin’s arm falls around his shoulders too, so that he’s using Gwaine and Arthur like crutches.

They shuffle like a bizarre four-legged race into Arthur and Merlin’s bedroom and deposit Merlin on the bed. He goes easily, pliant with tiredness, and Gwaine feels the loss of his heat keenly. Arthur is mock glaring at where Merlin, still dressed, is sprawled over the whole bed.

“He never keeps to his side,” Arthur says.

“You could just get a bigger bed,” Gwaine suggests. For some reason that comment brings the strange, amused smile back to Arthur’s face, like Gwaine’s brought up some in-joke he doesn’t even know.

“Yeah,” Arthur says. “That might be an idea.”

“Ri-ight.” Gwaine decides that retreat might be the best course of action here, because he’s suddenly very cold and very tired. “Goodnight then.”

*

Things get weird after that. There are conversations that seem to have layers Gwaine can’t hear and those smiles keep creeping back onto Merlin and Arthur’s faces.

One day, they turn up at his job in the shop and insist on taking him out for lunch. There is a moment where Merlin’s licking doughnut jam from his fingers that is very definitely obscene. Gwaine isn’t complaining, but it looks like Merlin’s flirting with him, right in front of Arthur; like he is trying to make Arthur jealous. He just hopes nothing’s wrong in their crazy gay paradise because, if there is, he might be forced to put it right and Gwaine has always hated that he has got a streak of chivalry in him.

But one glance in the other direction removes the thought from his mind entirely, though it leaves him more confused than ever. Arthur has never looked less jealous in his life. He looks indulgent, somehow, and shakes his head like Merlin’s simulation of jam-stained fellatio is somehow an amusing quirk rather than a come on to all and sundry.

Arthur drags Gwaine out to the gym after dinner and Gwaine agrees, hoping to get some of the frustration out from the way Merlin kept touching him while they were cooking. It seemed like the utensils he needed were always right in front of Gwaine, and Merlin had to lean past him with his entire body either flush against Gwaine’s side or back every time. It had been rather distracting and Gwaine still can’t remember what he put in the pasta sauce he was making.

But the gym doesn’t do what he was expecting. Instead he ends up sweaty and exhausted, with a sweaty and exhausted Arthur wrapping an arm over his shoulders, laughing huffs of breath into his ear. He smells the man’s sweat and is suddenly very certain this must be almost how he looks and smells after sex.

Fuck.

He needs to get control of his libido again. All the frustration he had let out during the workout is suddenly back in full force and he is wanking in the gym shower cubicles a little frantically. He has managed to stay with the pair of them for years, but the past few days have seemed like divine retribution, if he believed in that.

Arthur smirks at him when he comes out, like he knows what Gwaine was doing in there. Then he tosses Gwaine’s gym bag at his head. It should be enough for Gwaine’s general irritation at him to rise to the forefront, drowning out his more than PG rated thoughts. But Arthur’s hair is wet, curling slightly, and he is still glowing a bit from the adrenalin. It’s an uphill struggle not to just snog the man’s brains out right then and there. The only reason Gwaine doesn’t is because he knows it would kill Merlin, and doing that to Merlin would probably kill Gwaine as well.

Sometimes, Gwaine thinks when they get back as he grabs a beer from the fridge, the world is hideously unfair.

Arthur and Merlin have very loud sex that night, right up against the adjoining wall between their room and Gwaine’s. They are taunting him. They have to know; they can’t not know he can hear every sodding thrust. When you’re being treated to audio pornography that good (and God, the way Arthur talks when he’s having his dick sucked should be recorded and used instead of Viagra) there is not much else you can do but go along for the ride. So Gwaine does, bringing himself to orgasm barely two seconds before he hears Merlin go over the edge himself. Arthur takes a little longer and Gwaine falls off to sleep listening to him lose the ability to speak and descend into frantic grunts.

He has some interesting dreams.

*

Friday night comes along again and Arthur walks into Gwaine’s room to throw something else at his head. It’s soft this time, at least, not like when he took to throwing stationery. Arthur’s aim is perfect. Even if you dodge he still manages to hit you between the eyes.

He is gone by the time Gwaine looks down at what is in his hands. It’s a smart-looking shirt and trousers, both new and both his size.

“Arthur?” he calls, but it isn’t Arthur who comes. Instead, it’s Merlin, half dressed and toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. Gwaine takes a moment to appreciate the sight before holding up the clothes with a questioning look.

“Do you like them?” Merlin asks. Gwaine raises his eyebrow.

“What are they for?”

“Wearing,” Arthur says, appearing beside Merlin in a similar state of undress. Gwaine takes another moment because he is, of course, still human, still bisexual and still very attracted to Arthur in a way that is never going to amount to anything. He still thinks they should have made naked Thursdays a house rule because Arthur needs to wear fewer clothes.

So does Merlin.

To be honest, Gwaine has always thought clothing should be an optional extra.

“Why?” Gwaine finally asks, aware Arthur is giving him the amused grin again. “I have perfectly serviceable clothing.”

“Not for where we’re going. Ripped jeans and leather jackets aren’t exactly in the dress code.”

“Where we’re going?” Gwaine echoes. Merlin beams.

“Well,” Arthur says, drawing the word out, leaning back against Gwaine’s doorframe and pulling Merlin against him. It’s a challenge, that movement, like he knows Gwaine is trying not to ogle them into next week. “You’re coming out with us. We couldn’t have a repeat of last week. She really was horrible you know.”

He fails to control his eyes and Arthur’s smile grows.

Merlin has mentioned, on many occasions, that Gwaine and Arthur should never be allowed to enter competitions because neither of them can bear to lose. That smile of Arthur’s sparks something in Gwaine, something a little vindictive and more than a little shameless. He shrugs.

“Fine,” he tells them and tosses the new clothes onto the bed before dragging his t-shirt off over his head and then proceeds to strip out of his jeans as well. He is sort of expecting them to leave, but when he looks up they are still standing there.

It’s a strange sort of game of chicken; him mostly naked, the pair of them both topless, staring at each other.

He is not missing anything this time. They are both checking him out. Merlin’s eyes seem to be stuck on his abs and Arthur’s just leering at him. It’s both ego-boosting and bizarre.

Gwaine has never been uncomfortable about his body, so he stretches in a way he knows looks obscene and then reaches for the trousers. Their gazes are boring into him still, as he does up the belt and the pulls on the shirt.

“Meet your approval?” he asks, daring them to mention the leering, but they don’t.

“Excellent,” Arthur says all business again, like he hadn’t just had Gwaine strip for his entertainment. He and Merlin straighten up, no longer leaning like underwear models. “The reservation’s at seven thirty. We bought you shoes as well.”

Then they disappear, leaving Gwaine baffled, turned on and a little uncomfortable in clothes far smarter than his usual wardrobe.

*

The restaurant isn’t really his thing. It’s Posh with a capital P. There’s a person who shows them to their table and more than one set of cutlery. Just one glance at the wine list tells Gwaine all he really needs to know – there aren’t any prices, but there are years. Merlin sees his unimpressed face and leans over.

“Arthur likes these sort of places,” he says, sounding a little apologetic. “I don’t get it personally, the atmosphere’s rubbish, but the food’s good.”

“Of course the food’s good,” Arthur says, “it’s got a Michelin star. You don’t get awarded them for making beans on toast.”

“Not even really good beans on toast?” Gwaine asks. Arthur rolls his eyes, which is at least normal.

*

Merlin is right about the food and the atmosphere. The waiter looks at Gwaine like he is something the cat dragged in. But the wine is good and Arthur turns out to be very good at deflating the waiter’s rather large ego. When the evening is lubricated with alcohol and a decent number of insults, it’s like the three of them are back to normal again.

He might have a little too much to drink, just a little bit, but Arthur does tell him to order anything he wants from the menu, so he naturally goes for what he guesses to be the most expensive things he can (and that includes the alcohol).

Things are all very pleasant. They eat, they drink and they chat. And Gwaine lasts almost two hours before being thrown out of the place for suggesting the waiter do some anatomically improbable acts to himself.

He has Arthur on one side of him and Merlin on the other, holding him up because his legs seem unable to follow the most basic of instructions, and they bundle him through the front door as he declares them both the best friends he ever had and that Arthur is the biggest git he has ever known.

“Okay,” Merlin mutters somewhere to his right, “maybe the alcohol plan wasn’t the best.”

“You think?” Arthur says sarcastically. He’s very good at sarcasm, so Gwaine tells him so. Gwaine’s very happy at the moment, so he tells them both that as well.

“Good,” Merlin says as they settle him down in his own bed. “That’s good. We want you to be happy.”

“Want you to be happy too,” Gwaine tells him, letting one hand find Merlin’s cheek. It is so easy to touch people with alcohol buzzing in his bloodstream.

“That was the idea,” Arthur says and Gwaine isn’t sure what he’s talking about, because he’s fairly positive he said the touching people thing out loud as well. He doesn’t tend to filter when he’s drunk.

“We know,” Arthur tells him. “Look, just get some sleep, you sot. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

“About what?” Gwaine asks. Arthur sighs like he’s exasperated or angry and Merlin laughs.

“I really don’t know what I’m going to do with you two,” Arthur says. “Honestly, we’ve hardly been subtle, moron.”

“Moron?” Gwaine echoes.

“Sleep, Gwaine,” Merlin tells him and Gwaine lets his head fall back, because even if Arthur’s angry, Merlin’s not and Merlin can handle Arthur.

Before he finally succumbs to sleep, he manages to tell them how glad he is they are still putting up with him.

*

He wakes to a cup of coffee and a quiet flat. He wanders out of his room, shirtless and his hair in an actual dishevelled state, rather than the artful dishevelled state he usually goes for. Arthur and Merlin are in the kitchen having another of those whispered conversations. They shut up as soon as he comes in, looking guilty.

He leans in the doorway, crosses his arms and waits. Because honestly, this has been going on too long now and he’s fairly certain he remembers Merlin’s hand going somewhere that Merlin’s hand probably does not belong last night.

And Arthur’s hand too, for that matter.

Merlin looks even guiltier if anything and Arthur is shifting uncomfortably behind his coffee but trying to make it look like he’s completely comfortable. It’s easy to see he isn’t, though. Gwaine has known him too long to be fooled by the frown on his face.

Merlin kicks the leg of the table, a sure sign he’s trying to look unnoticeable.

“You two are really crap at secrets,” he says. “Just tell me already. It’ll make you feel better.”

Merlin makes a muffled sound which sounds halfway between a moan and a whimper and Gwaine can actually see Arthur’s foot shoot out to kick him in the shin under the table. He points that out and Arthur has the grace to blush slightly, avoiding his eyes.

“Look, if you really don’t want to tell me, that’s fine,” he tells them, “but, honestly, it seems to involve me, so I’d at least like you to tell me that you’re not going to tell me… or something.”

“We want to tell you,” Merlin says, before Arthur can stop him. “It’s just, we thought it would be easier if we didn’t have to. Well, Arthur didn’t think it was an appropriate conversation, and you know how he is about being a smug git sometimes. He wanted to…” Arthur kicks him again and Merlin lets out a yelp.

“Spit it out, Pendragon,” Gwaine says. He really wants his coffee. But if he walks past this right now, it’s entirely possible he’ll never find out what these two have been up to all week.

“We’re sorry,” Arthur says.

“An apology?” Gwaine says, “Must be serious.” Arthur glares at him. “Oh come on, Wonder boy, don’t be shy. Whatever it is, just tell me. Believe me, I’ve heard worse.”

Merlin chuckles to himself and kicks Arthur right back.

That’s enough of that game, so Gwaine walks over and perches on a stool, leaning his elbows on the table.

“We... we…” but apparently Arthur can’t quite get whatever it is out of his mouth. Gwaine glances at Merlin instead, but Merlin looks away, flushing red as soon as Gwaine moves, and Gwaine is dimly aware that whatever Merlin was looking at, it wasn’t his face.

He takes in the set of Arthur’s jaw along with the flush that is still hovering around the tips of his ears and the torn look on Merlin’s face. Then he adds that to the past week; the touching, the conversations and the bloody finger licking.

“You want a threesome,” he says slowly, putting it together, and they both turn to him, Arthur covering up the pink in his cheeks with a whispered “finally”.

Merlin is looking at him, still guilty, but eagerly too, and Arthur is on edge, waiting for the answer, Gwaine can tell.

He doesn’t give them one. It’s a little… much.

He wants to say yes; God does he want to say yes. Because he’s already imagining how it would work, right here, right now, saying things in Arthur’s ear to make him flush deeper until his pride took over, dragging Merlin across the table so that he can taste his mouth. Both of them, naked, here, hands everywhere and just generally – they would work well together, the three of them. They would push and pull each other in different directions and it would all be delicious.

But this is probably the most settled he has ever been. No, it’s definitely the most settled he’s ever been, and it’s the happiest too, in this flat with his rampantly shagging best friends, who he might be kind of in love with. He likes the flat and he likes waking up to coffee that Merlin’s made, which is only ever palatable half the time, and omelettes on Sundays that Arthur always burns.

He likes the fact that he has friends who will be there when he wakes up in China one morning handcuffed to a bicycle, with only a hazy idea of how he got there. (There’s a picture of that moment on the mantelpiece, which makes Arthur frown and Merlin giggle, but they’ve never told him the whole story).

He likes that Arthur frowns when he drinks too much and that Merlin will always buy him another round, even if he never pays him back.

He’s never really been this happy before. It’s almost sad and almost brilliant. He imagines the sex again and damn does he want that sex, because he’s been dreaming of it for the past God knows how long. Since he met them, he thinks, when he imagined him and Arthur fighting over Merlin’s mouth and his arse, and later, when he’d fallen in love with Arthur, too, and his fantasies were more equal.

Gwaine never really wants to grow up, not really, because grown ups think before they do things and care about consequences more than reasons. But if ever there was a time to be grown up, it is now. Because everything he ever fucking wanted is being handed to him on a plate and, if there is one thing that Gwaine knows, it’s that everything has a price.

Having Arthur and Merlin fuck him into oblivion would be a bad idea. He knows their relationship would weather it (even if he is a God in bed, which he is) but he doesn’t really know whether the friendship would, because Gwaine would want it again. He knows that. He knows lust intimately and he knows that while this heady feeling might fade, he also knows what he really feels for the pair of them isn’t just lust.

He’s been silent too long though, because Arthur’s face is shuttering and Merlin looks lost.

He opens his mouth to say no, but Merlin looks bereft and Gwaine’s never quite been able to resist Merlin’s eyes.

“Why?” he asks. It isn’t what he was expecting to say, but it’s a relevant question.

“If you’re not interested then just say so,” Arthur tells him, standing up. Gwaine grabs his arm before he can leave and Arthur flinches, snatching his arm away. This is too big a reaction for just not getting any.

Merlin is looking at him like a hopeful puppy, a grin-in-training pulling at his mouth. It’s a tentative look, like someone taming a wild animal, and there’s something there that isn’t the looks from last night, when the pair of them were leering at him. It’s more serious than that.

“What…” he begins. Then he backtracks, because first thing’s first. Arthur’s pulling away from his grip and glaring at him like Gwaine is evil incarnate. “I never said I wasn’t interested,” he says, and Arthur’s gaze snaps up. “Look, we’re flatmates, and friends. God forbid I am ever the sensible one in this friendship, but this could be awkward. You two could find any number of people you’re not living with to experiment with.” His throat goes a bit dry at the idea – listening to the pair of them with someone else, knowing that it could have been him.

Shit. This is basically just shit, Gwaine reasons, because however this turns out now, he’s never going to have it back the way it was again.

“You are such an idiot,” Arthur says, stepping right up to him, glaring down. He looks incredibly hot when he’s angry, all blazing blue eyes and firm set to his lips. “This isn’t-“ he growls, a sound that goes right to Gwaine’s dick and then there’s a hand scooping under Gwaine’s shoulder and Arthur’s dragging him to his feet and crushing their mouths together.

It’s a fight, like so much between them is, and Gwaine’s playing catch up, because he’s a little taken back by such a frontal assault. But when he gets with the programme, he gives as good as he gets, struggling for control, even as Arthur’s doing the same thing.

Arthur’s hands are warm from his coffee, and a little clammy, like he’s nervous, but his mouth is hot and aggressive and perfect, exactly like Gwaine always knew he’d kiss.

There’s a strangled moan from across the other side of the table and they break apart to look at Merlin, who’s got this glazed expression spread right across his face, his throat swallowing reflexively.

Arthur’s hands are still gripping Gwaine’s shoulders and he shakes him a little, to force his attention back to him, from the way Merlin’s tongue is making little, stuttering licks across his bottom lip.

“We don’t want someone else,” Arthur says, digging his nails into Gwaine’s skin. “We don’t want to experiment.”

“We want you,” Merlin says, recovering enough to say those three words.

“We took you on a date,” Arthur points out. “We cooked you dinner.”

Gwaine realises that they’ve been going out with him for the past week and chuckles at his own incredible stupidity. Wood for the trees, he supposes.

He looks at Merlin, whose gaze has turned hungry now, and who isn’t even trying to disguise the way he’s ogling Gwaine’s chest.

“We talked about this,” Arthur says, though the words are a little grudging, like he’s affronted that Gwaine needs this explained to him. “We agreed that we wanted you, so we’d try and get you,” Arthur shrugs a little uncomfortably. “Merlin wanted to just ask you.”

“But Arthur had a plan,” Merlin says. His tone is the familiar affectionate mocking that Gwaine is so used to. “I told him it was stupid.”

“If he wasn’t so dense, it would have been perfect,” Arthur protests. He turns to Gwaine. “We were so obvious. A blind man could have seen that we were-“

Arthur’s mouth, Gwaine decides, is far more enjoyable when it’s not talking, so he crushes their lips together and takes advantage of Arthur’s shock to exercise complete control over the kiss until Arthur’s brain catches up to him. There’s that little sob sound again and Gwaine pulls away from Arthur just long enough to grin at Merlin.

“Get over here then,” he says. And Merlin’s grin is wider than he’s ever seen it before. His chair tumbles away from the table as he gets up and he almost trips over the table leg on his way.

Then Merlin is crushed against Gwaine’s back, mouthing at his neck, hands going straight to pushing at his trousers. Arthur is biting down on his left shoulder and manhandling him backwards and Gwaine’s stuck trying to decide what to touch first, because he wants them naked, now.

With a delighted laugh, he finally decides to go for Arthur first, because he’s the most readily available, and he fumbles with the buttons on Arthur’s shirt. It goes a little clumsily, because Gwaine’s never really been much for buttons, but then Merlin’s hands decide to help and it’s a matter of seconds before Arthur is stripping the fabric off his shoulders and chucking it into a corner.

They’re going backwards, Arthur trying to push all three of them somewhere – the sofa or a bedroom, Gwaine imagines.

They miss the kitchen door, and there’s an ‘ooph’ as Merlin hits the doorframe, followed by a laugh. Gwaine twists around to grab him and gently push him to the right position, but all thoughts leave his head when he sees him; eyes dark, hair mussed and lips swollen, still wearing far too many clothes.

So getting Merlin naked takes centre stage for a moment, a decision that Arthur seems to heartily approve of.

Once they’re all wearing fewer clothes, and panting a bit, Arthur shoves Gwaine’s shoulder and nods through the door.

“Shall we go and see if our bed’s big enough, then?” he asks, raising his eyebrow. Gwaine laughs, but stumbles towards their room anyway, following Merlin, who’s walking mostly backwards, like he can’t take his eyes off Gwaine and Arthur.

When they finally make it through the bedroom door, Merlin is pushing him down onto his and Arthur’s bed (their bed, now, Gwaine supposes) coming to straddle him.

Arthur is standing by the door, watching them. He doesn’t seem to want to interfere right now. Gwaine reaches up to pull Merlin to him, but his hands are batted away and pushed upwards.

He takes the hint and grasps the headboard, earning himself a wicked smile.

“So what’s the-“ The word plan is lost as Merlin’s mouth starts to lick patterns across his chest and his hands start doing fascinating things along the inside of Gwaine’s thighs, gently pushing them apart.

“Damn, that’s hot,” Gwaine says, looking down at Merlin’s face, paying him no heed, completely involved in exploring Gwaine’s right nipple.

“God yes,” Arthur agrees from the doorway. Gwaine looks at him and Arthur has got his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it almost casually. Gwaine swears again, his own cock jerks in response to the image, earning him a slight bite from Merlin.

“Always knew you’d be eager,” Merlin says.

“For you two?” he asks, with a shaky laugh. Gwaine’s not sure he’s ever been this turned on in his life and that includes the time he walked in on Merlin fucking Arthur on his hands and knees, calling him a desperate little cockslut.

But apparently Gwaine has been made honorary cockslut for tonight, which he has no problem with, at all.

It’s been a while since he gave someone a blow job, actually. He’s mostly gone home with girls since recognising his inappropriate crush on his flatmates. Mostly because he knows that every guy he’s attracted to looks like one or the other. He’s missed it, though, and his mouth is watering as he shoots another look over at Arthur’s cock. He catches Arthur’s smug grin again and rolls his eyes.

“This is going to make you even more of an arse, isn’t it?” he asks. Arthur just grins more widely, but Merlin chuckles.

“Don’t worry, hearing him beg you for your cock up his arse really makes that easier to handle.”

“I don’t beg,” Arthur says.

“Yes you do,” Gwaine says, “I’ve heard you. These walls are like paper.”

Merlin groans and his fingers come up to wrap around Gwaine’s cock for a moment, before drifting away again as Gwaine’s hips buck upwards.

“You were listening,” Arthur says.

“You were loud,” Gwaine replies. “And it wasn’t like I was going to pass up an opportunity to hear that.”

“Pervert,” Merlin says affectionately. Gwaine leers down at him. Merlin’s mouth is hovering tantalisingly close to Gwaine’s cock now. If Gwaine moved his hips just so, then the tip of it would trace over Merlin’s bottom lip leaving patterns on it. He swallows and wills himself to hold on, fingers gripping more tightly into the headboard. He really doesn’t want this to be over.

“Maybe we can make Gwaine beg,” Arthur says, starting to walk over. Right now, Gwaine doesn’t think it would take a lot of effort. He’s practically begging already, but it’s a challenge, and sex or not, Arthur can’t just expect him to bow out now, not after years of precedent. So he smirks back, sets his jaw, determined that the only person begging today will be Arthur.

Arthur’s hand comes to rest on Merlin’s hair, pushing him down slightly. Merlin takes the hint and sucks the tip of Gwaine’s cock into his mouth looking up at Gwaine, eyes dancing with amusement.

Gwaine swears, the word torn out of his throat, but he doesn’t beg.

“He’s really good at this,” Arthur tells him. He sounds more like he’s discussing Merlin’s prowess at a video game than his ability to give a good blow job.

But any comment Gwaine’s got in his mind about Arthur’s tone is eliminated as Merlin proves the words right.

Gwaine has had, what most people would consider, a lot of sex in his time. He’s had many mouths wrapped around his dick and he’s had more than enough cocks stuck down his throat as well, but he never knew that tongues could do that.

“Jesus bloody, buggering Christ,” he says and Arthur’s hand winds into Merlin’s hair to pull him back up again. Merlin’s face is disappointed as he pulls away and there’s a strand of saliva that clings from his mouth to Gwaine’s dick for a few seconds, before it finally breaks.

Then Arthur is reaching down to pull Gwaine up a bit more, but Gwaine is still not on board with the ‘Arthur’s in charge’ plan, so he snakes out an arm and drags Arthur down to him instead, revelling in the open eyed shock that Arthur has before he is too close for Gwaine to focus on.

There is a moment where they are all arms and legs, and Gwaine realises that he hadn’t thought the move through logistically at all, but Merlin moves and helps him along, so then it’s Arthur between the two of them, legs on either side of Gwaine’s hips, Merlin’s arms wrapping around his torso to hold him up and keep him from crushing Gwaine half to death.

Arthur’s mouth opens up, presumably to make some idiotic and overly smug comment, and Gwaine feels that he’s had enough of that, so he pushes a hand down between them and grabs Arthur’s cock, a little rough, but Arthur seems to like that, if the way his eyes roll back into his head is anything to go by.

Whatever words were about to come out of Arthur’s mouth, they turn into a meaningless moan before they reach his lips.

“That’s better,” Gwaine tells him. Suddenly he’s in shadow and he looks past Arthur to see Merlin grinning victoriously at him.

Gwaine is a little upset he doesn’t have more hands, but Arthur is supporting himself now, so he uses his free one to hook around Merlin’s neck and pull him down.

It’s awkward, kissing with Arthur’s broad shoulder between them, but it’s also perfect too, because Merlin is so enthusiastic, like he is trying to get his tongue everywhere at once, and he shifts position so their lips get a better angle, which means that something rubs against Gwaine’s cock again, making him moan into Merlin’s mouth.

Arthur lets out an impatient little groan, demanding their attention and Gwaine and Merlin pull back to share that look. Arthur is an arse, it says, but at least he’s our arse.

Arthur ruts his cock into Gwaine’s hand, demanding attention, and, from the momentary haze that passes over Merlin’s face when Arthur shifts his arse back, it’s in close proximity to Merlin’s cock.

“He’s very needy,” Merlin explains, breathlessly, he takes Gwaine’s hand from the back of his neck and guides it to Arthur’s mouth. His index finger is immediately sucked in, Arthur’s tongue stroking against it, light touches and then strong swipes, twisting around the end and then thrusting itself all the way down until it reaches the webbing at the end.

Gwaine lets his middle finger stroke across Arthur’s lips and watches, fascinated, as Arthur lets that one slide in as well.

Arthur already looks a little wrecked. His forehead is sweaty and his blond hair has darkened with the sweat sticking to it in little clumps. His face is flushed as well, which makes the blue of his eyes stand out more as he looks right into Gwaine’s eyes.

Gwaine is about to say something when Arthur’s hand comes up to grab his wrist and pull his fingers away, when all three of them still.

“Ours,” Arthur pants. His lips are swollen and shiny with saliva. Gwaine is so caught up in the way they shape the word, he doesn’t get the meaning for a moment, until Arthur repeats it. “Ours?”

There’s warning in Arthur’s eyes, and Gwaine’s reminded of his possessive streak.

“Of course he is,” Merlin says, as though it’s the simplest thing in the world, “he always has been really.”

“You’re ours,” Arthur repeats though. It’s a statement, not a question. His body is shaking, only supported by the one arm, with Merlin’s weight pressing against him as well.

“Signing my life away, am I?” Gwaine asks. It’s a joke, but the other two don’t seem to take it that way. Arthur’s grip increases and Merlin’s gaze hardens a little.

“Yes,” Merlin says. It doesn’t allow for any argument.

“Guess you’re stuck with me then,” Gwaine says.

“Good,” Arthur tells him, before shoving Gwaine’s fingers back into his mouth and resuming his writhing as though the moment hadn’t happened at all. Merlin takes a moment longer to go back, though, waiting until Gwaine meets his gaze before nodding once, firm and sure . Gwaine has never seen him so serious.

It almost scares him, how intense this has become, because Gwaine doesn’t do intense. He does fun and easy. He does flirtatious conversations and no strings attached.

But if he hasn’t left Arthur and Merlin so far, there is nothing he can think of that would convince him to leave now that he has this.

Merlin kisses him again and it’s even more awkward than last time, but Merlin is just as aggressive as Arthur had been before in the kitchen, or more so even. He bites a little at Gwaine’s lips then soothes them with his tongue.

They can’t seem to settle on any one thing for a while, Arthur and Gwaine try to get the upper-hand on each other, with Merlin, intensity gone, laughing at them in the background.

He ends up on top of Arthur, in the end, and makes a short, breathless, victory speech before the sight of Arthur glaring up at him, daring him, is too much and he is taking some lube and a condom from Merlin. It doesn’t take long before he has got his fingers sliding into Arthur again and again, twisting and scissoring to open him up, driving as deep as he can, just to see Arthur try to catch his gasps by tugging his bottom lip between his teeth.

He adds a third finger and Arthur pushes back with a desperate moan and a hissed “Get on with it. Just get on with it, bastard.”

“Well that’s not very polite,” Gwaine says, ignoring his urge to just push Arthur’s legs up and slide right in. He has a point to make, he is sure of that, though the reason behind it escapes him at the moment. “Say please.” Merlin is kneeling behind him and he props his chin on Gwaine’s shoulder to watch.

Arthur glares at him and he’s far too composed for Gwaine’s liking, so Gwaine pulls his fingers almost completely out then pushes them back in abruptly.

“Please,” Arthur says, eyes closing as his feet scrabble for extra leverage. “Please, please, please. You utter bastard.”

“I think he can do better than that,” Merlin says, reaching round to take the condom from Gwaine’s hand. He rips it open and rolls it onto Gwaine’s cock with sure fingers. Making Gwaine lose a little of his own composure. “Come on Arthur…”

“Please,” Arthur says again, closely followed by “I knew I’d… I’d - ple-ase -regret this.”

“Please what?” Merlin says innocently. But his hand is now smearing lube onto Gwaine’s cock generously, making Gwaine’s breathing ragged.

“You know what!” Arthur shouts. They don’t say anything and Arthur is barely silent a few seconds before he pushes back against Gwaine’s hand again and his voice drops to this needy growl that has clearly never been loud enough to get through the walls, because it’s completely new to Gwaine, and he needs more of it right now.

“Fuck me,” Arthur says, abandoning pretence. “Just fuck me, Gwaine. Please.” He doesn’t have to ask twice, because Gwaine’s already pulling his hand out and lining up. He watches as he pushes in, unable to keep the groan from his voice.

He’s getting the angle right when Merlin’s fingers find their way to Gwaine’s arse, already lubed and rather insistent. As he pulls half out of Arthur, one of them pushes in experimentally. It’s mindless, fucking back against them as he fucks into Arthur.

Arthur is smirking at the expression on his face and he thrusts harder until Arthur’s eyes screw up and his mouth opens up in a long ‘o’ of pleasure. Merlin is right, this does make the smugness more bearable.

But Merlin is adding another finger and another one and his other hand is cupping Gwaine’s balls.

He’s not sure how much longer he can last, considering he’s been hard for so fucking long. He’s been close a few times, but every time he’d almost got there, they’d pulled apart and reformed in some other position. But no one’s stopping him this time, and Arthur’s legs are hooked around him, and he’s moaning hopelessly, keening almost, and begging in between the nonsense noises. It’s all Gwaine and please.

He’s never liked hearing his name quite that much before.

And behind him, Merlin starts whispering to him as well, about how fucking hot it is, to see them both like this, about how he knows exactly what Gwaine is feeling right now and how Arthur loves it, can’t Gwaine see how much he’s loving it?

It’s enough and Gwaine is over the edge before he can really think about it, losing all rhythm and just trying to bury himself so far into Arthur that he’ll never have to come out. He tries to reach for Arthur’s cock, but his hand is batted away by Arthur himself, who says “not yet, not yet.”

Gwaine’s legs give out about then and he slumps forward onto Arthur’s chest.

“I think we broke him,” Merlin says cheerfully, twisting his fingers in an obscene manner. Gwaine is too sensitive for that and he can’t quite stop himself from moaning desperately.

“Come on, Gwaine,” Arthur says, recovering a little. “You can last longer than that. Don’t be such a lightweight.”

“I’ll show you a fu-u-ugh,” Gwaine manages, but he’s being shoved upwards, and suddenly he’s sitting upright and Merlin is sitting behind him, pulling him down so Gwaine is just sitting on his cock and he is sliding up into him, filling him up so much he can’t even think, just groan, head falling back onto Merlin’s shoulder.

“I like him like this,” Arthur says, crawling up to them. “We should get him like this as much as possible.”

“Fuck off,” Gwaine manages. “Made you beg, didn’t I?” Arthur smirks.

“My turn now,” he says, which is all Gwaine needs to hear to know he is really in trouble.

“Oh fuck,” Merlin says, right into Gwaine’s ear. “I need to move. Can’t you two get past your fucking pissing match? I need to move.” Arthur clambers out of the way and Gwaine is tilted back onto his hands and knees by Merlin, whose hands are shaking. He pulls out slowly, a long drag of sensation that Gwaine can hardly bear, before thrusting back in.

Gwaine is getting hard again, faster than he has in a few years, which he is almost ashamed to admit. Merlin is sliding into him so slowly. It’s a delicious feeling. There is a twinge of pain, but mostly it’s just delicious.

Arthur is to the side, watching them.

“This was my best idea, ever,” he says.

“This was my idea,” Merlin tells him.

“No, it was definitely my idea,” Arthur says back.

“You two only came up with this a week ago,” Gwaine argues, regaining the use of his tongue a bit. “I had this idea years ago.”

“You should have said,” Merlin says, setting up a faster rhythm. His words are ragged and broken.

“Yes,” Arthur agrees, “you really should have done.”

Then words are lost, because Merlin is starting to fuck him in earnest and Gwaine gives up on everything that isn’t fucking himself back onto Merlin’s cock.

And maybe he begs a little bit, but he made Arthur beg first and that’s the most important bit, right? It makes Arthur smirk, but it also makes him curl his fingers around Gwaine’s dick just like that, teasing and taunting at first, but finally more firmly and decisively.

He doesn’t even realise that Arthur is mirroring those movements on his own body until he opens his eyes to catch sight of Arthur coming while he watches them.

The look on Arthur’s face is too much and he can’t quite stop himself from coming again. His muscles spasm around Merlin’s cock and he can hear a litany of swear words and ‘that’s it, please, yes that’s it’ from behind him, until finally, Merlin’s shoving into him and coming, making the same desperate, wonderful noises Gwaine’s heard through the walls so many times before.

They collapse onto the bed, a tangle of limbs, covered in sweat. It’s almost unpleasantly hot and Gwaine can’t tell which of the arms and legs draped over him belong to Arthur and which to Merlin. But, to be honest, he doesn’t mind.

Merlin is half asleep and dozy already. It seems some things never change. Gwaine kisses him lightly on the forehead, just because he can, and catches sight of Arthur’s soft smile over Merlin’s dark hair.

“Later,” Arthur says, “we can both take him.” He pets gentle fingers over Merlin’s hair. “He’s beautiful like that.”

Gwaine wants to say thank you, but he and Arthur don’t do that, so instead he lets his hand find Merlin’s hair as well and their fingers brush over it together, tangling up in each other. He smiles. He can see a million mornings like this one stretching out in front of him. He knows Arthur will only ever be like this in these moments, when he’s too well-fucked and raw around the edges to be caught up in his usual issues. It’s something he’ll have to live with.

He smirks.

“Let’s make him beg,” he says. Arthur smiles, lazy and slow.

“Oh,” he says, hand catching Gwaine’s and bringing it down to rest on his hip. “We will.”

That’s the kind of promise Gwaine can really get behind.


End file.
